


One Fall Day

by wildirerose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Dirty Talk, Dom!Sam, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Impotence, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pet Names, Sastiel Big Bang 2013, sub!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildirerose/pseuds/wildirerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam takes Cas to an amusement park on a day when the pain that has wracked his body since the trials - for the last three years - has receded enough for him to leave the house. Holding hands and sharing candy apples, they remember the moments that shaped their relationship. (Set after Season 8 finale; so AU for Season 9.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Fall Day

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been so much fun to work on. I have to extend HUGE THANK YOU to my lovely artist, Brieanna (http://bangyourhammeronme.tumblr.com). She captured the mood of the story perfectly and produced beautiful work. She was also so encouraging and lovely! I couldn't have gotten a better match. Also, another GIGANTIC THANK YOU to Kitty (http://erysichthon.tumblr.com), who was the best beta I could have asked for! Her suggestions have greatly improved the final draft and I'm so glad she agreed to take a look. Any remaining mistakes are my own! And thank you to the mods of the Sastiel Big Bang for coordinating such a wonderful challenge! As for this story: it's a porny fluff-fest - you've been warned. ;) I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Go comment on the lovely art here: http://bangyourhammer.livejournal.com/1949.html

 

I.

Sam knew immediately upon waking up that it was going to be one of the rare good days, where the acid that gnawed at his bones receded to a dull ache and he was able to fully catch his breath. Cas was snoring softly where he lay sprawled lengthwise at the foot of the bed, completely nude, a long stretch of heat keeping Sam's feet warm. Cas had gotten the hang of sleeping, eventually, after fits and starts and frustrated exhaustion, but he still couldn't quite manage to sleep properly in a bed.

For the last three years, they'd been living in a comfortable little two bedroom cabin in Lebanon, Kansas. They were close enough to the bunker, but when they'd gone there immediately after the trials, after the angels fell, the close underground air had exacerbated Sam's symptoms to the point that Dean had moved them both outside in a tent for the two days it took him to find this place. A cottage in the woods, off of an access road, thirty minutes from the nearest grocery store and only fifteen from the Men of Letters bunker. Owner deceased, family dead or distant, some construction required. But it had a spacious bedroom on the ground floor, a well on the property that supplied cool and clean running water, and its own generator - they were fully self-sufficient here. The first floor bedroom had large windows that Sam could throw open, the fresh air exactly what he needed to be able to start to catch his breath again. Dean had a project to distract himself from his guilt, working on restoring the place, moving supplies in from the bunker and purchasing whatever else they needed downtown, and fussing over making sure Sam was getting enough rest, enough to eat, enough tea, enough blankets, enough sunlight but not too much. Somewhere in between all that, with the help of the candor that comes from exhaustion, they were able to talk, long and deep, for the first time in years.

Now, the only repairs were fiddly, cosmetic alterations - a new coat of paint outside, landscaping. The cottage was in full working order and comfortable. The living room was stacked with books (occult tomes and New York Times Best Sellers both) as well as DVDs and dust-covered VHS tapes. And the ground floor bedroom, the bedroom occupied by Sam and Cas, had accumulated the clutter of their lives. It looked, and felt, lived in - a stray sock on the floor by the dresser, a stack of photographs in the bedside table drawer, a lamp with one of the bulbs burned out that Sam kept forgetting to change, two books, side by side, within easy reach of the bed, their pages marked by receipts. Sam had spent a lot of his life imagining what home might feel like. He finally knew. At great cost, certainly - but it was worth it, the way Cas breathed draped across his shins.

Their bed was a mess of pillows, arranged to allow Sam to sleep propped up and give some relief to his ruined lungs. It was easy, therefore, for him to curl forward and wind his fingers in Cas's hair where he slept. A few gray strands had begun to make an appearance - only three years of being human and already there they were - and Sam twirled one around his finger to examine it in the low slant of August sunlight that crept through the blinds. Just a few gray hairs, and that was them growing old together.

Cas stirred under his touch without waking, unconsciously, instinctively arching up against Sam's hand. Sam took a deep breath that crackled down his throat and into his chest, feeling his ribs expand as he stretched his aching body into full awakening. Yes, it was going to be a good day. Some days, just to breathe exhausted him and the thought of breakfast seemed an odyssey, a challenge he couldn't be sure he would be able to surmount. While Dean and Cas both insisted, loudly, and at length, that he was doing better - the days when getting out of bed seemed a joyous rather than painful thing were still few and far between. It didn't matter. If the glimpses stolen through the drawn blinds were any indication, the weather outside was the perfect crisp warmth of late summer, and today he was going to leave the house. It was going to be today. He could feel it all the way down to his toes, feel it in the energy suffusing his soul in the dawn light. _Today was the day_.

"Cas," he said. "It's morning, baby."

Slowly, the rich smell of freshly brewed coffee was permeating their room, along with the tiny sounds of breakfast - the click of the burner on the stove being switched on, the low grade sizzle of bacon being laid in the pan, the muted rhythmic click of silverware being laid out on the three vinyl placemats that decorated the kitchen table. Sometime, in these last few years and with so many other larger changes, his brother had become a morning person.

"Cas," Sam repeated, and even his voice felt stronger than usual. No tremor, no weakness, just a deep expansion of air through his lungs. "Come on, sweetheart. Wake up."

Cas began to stir, little movements under the lump of blankets gracing the foot of the bed. Gradually, his fallen angel was blinking his way into wakefulness - a sleepy droop clung to his barely raised eyelids, a deep sigh and shift under the weight of Sam's hand, where it still lay tangled in the softness of his hair.

"Hey," Sam said.

Cas stretched, and there was an audible pop-pop-pop from his leisurely uncurling spine as he raised himself, limbs heavy from sleep, onto a single elbow.

"Sam," Cas breathed, in a voice thick with gravel from a night's disuse. "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

It was not a trivial question, nor routine politeness. There had never been a time where sleep was easy for Sam. He had been kept awake when he was younger by circling nightmares and endless regret, even before his failed attempt at closing the gates of hell had taken root in every tendon and sinew of his wrecked body to keep him twisting sleeplessly in the sheets night after night. But his answer this morning was that he felt somehow both rested and restless, aching to move, to stretch, to feel the sunlight on his face, but, first, to feel Cas's body pressed warm against his.

"I slept fine," Sam said. "Come here."

Cas crawled up the bed, sleepy movements that brought him up alongside Sam until they were stretched out side by side. Cas let his head fall against Sam's chest, comfortably tucked under his chin. Sam wondered if he'd ever get used to the sheer heat of him. Their relationship had begun there, really. With the simple act of sharing heat.

_When Dean had found Cas again, finally, and brought him home, Cas had had nothing left but human weakness and human warmth. After Dean had rushed out on that stormy night after a phone call from Garth to drive hours and bundle his wet former angel into the backseat, they'd burrowed together for days under thick blankets on the couch and sipped the mugs of soup Dean forced on them constantly, like medicine, like a cure, hovering. Back then, the only time Sam could stop shivering, could calm his muscles into stillness for a few blessed moments, was with Cas curled hotly against his side, the blankets tangling around them and trapping the heat of their bodies._

_The first time Dean had to leave the two of them long enough to restock their pantry, rushing out to the nearest gas station for cans of soup and rushing back, Cas spoke aloud for the first time the truth in a flat monotone of declarative sentences._

_"I'm going to die, now," Cas had said. "It's not if, anymore. It's inevitable."_

_"Cas - "_

_But what else was there to say? Their hands found each other under the blankets, an easy weaving of fingers, the slow circles of Sam's thumb across Cas's knuckle._

_Sam felt the question bubble up in him, the question he needed to ask but couldn't let Dean hear. Dean was determined that everything he'd ever done for his little brother when he'd had a cold as a child would cure him now - fluffy blankets, comfortable pajamas, comic books and chicken noodle soup and hot baths followed by frequent naps. Sam had to pretend to believe that he was getting better._

_"Is this permanent, Cas? Do you know? Can I heal from this?" Sam choked out the questions, voice breaking around them._

_"Somewhat, I think. Not entirely, Sam. Not ever entirely. I couldn't have fixed it, even if -" Cas broke off._

_Somehow, the realization that he could no longer heal others struck Cas much more strongly than the realization of his mortality. The blank lack of affect in his previous statements dissolved, horror etching its way across his features before he crumbled in front of Sam's eyes. One ragged breath and then a low, keening sound that heralded the arrival of tears._

_"It's okay. Shh, Cas. Come on. Easy, now," Sam said._

_Cas's eyes were wide with shock as the sobs shook him from the core, his panicked grip clutching Sam's fingers until they were numb. Sam pulled him as close as he could on the too small couch, the hand that wasn't held tightly in Cas's own coming up to rest between Cas's shoulder blades, where it traced circles against the fabric of his tee shirt. It wasn't the first time Cas had cried, Sam found out later. He had experienced his fair share of human pain and tears in the woods as he wandered, emptied of his grace, looking for the road, looking for anyone who could bring him back to his best friend and the only family he had left. He had cried, but the tears we shed alone are nothing like the release of sobbing in the arms of someone who cares about you, who is falling slowly and hopelessly in love with you. And Sam was, then. Already._

_When Dean came back with the soup, his brother and his broken angel were both asleep on the couch, wrapped up in each other and a fluffy mess of blankets, with more ease in their resting faces than he'd seen there for a very long time._

 

Now, as the dust danced spotlighted in the spaces between the blinds, Sam pressed his lips tenderly against Cas's forehead. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Cas's back and waist and pulled him in. Cas lifted his face to Sam's and they kissed.

"Please," Cas said.

Cas's breath descended into shallow little pants as Sam trailed his lips down his throat, teeth scraping at his adam's apple, catching on stubble.

"Okay, sweetheart," Sam said.

Cas moaned, low and deep, only breaking off to suck in ragged breath after ragged breath. He begged wordlessly with the movement of his body, already hard from anticipation. Morning sex had become as much a part of their routine as breakfast or brushing their teeth, but it never lost the delicious, sleepy edge, that tiny space of time before the day began that was just theirs together.

"Shh," Sam said. "I know."

He did know exactly what Cas needed, had come to know. Cas was the most naturally submissive lover Sam had ever been with. He'd had plenty of girls in the past who loved to be manhandled, girls who giggled and slipped pink-furred, novelty handcuffs into his pockets, who wanted him to show off his muscles by holding them firmly while he fucked them up against the wall. With Jess it had been different, run deeper - of course, she brought it out in him. The desire to be strong for her. To be good, to take care of her. Not that it was selfless. He loved this, and he had thought he'd never find it again. But it was all easy instinct with Cas - had been from the start.

"Come on, baby. Come up here; lay back. Just like that. That's my good boy."

With Cas, it wasn't about force. Cas didn't need him to take anything, he just wanted to give it. A bone deep need to serve, angel residue, inherent and beautiful. It was the best way Cas knew how to love, and accepting that and giving him exactly what he needed was the best way Sam knew how to love him back.

"Mmm," Sam hummed. "So beautiful, Cas. Hands flat on the bed for me, baby, okay?"

Cas trembled on Sam's lap, sprawled gracelessly back against Sam's chest, legs spread and cock curving up against his belly. He let his head fall back against Sam's shoulder, his breath hot against the underside of Sam's jaw. His hands pressed obediently into the quilt, fingers tensing and releasing against the fabric in anticipation.

"Want me to open you up, baby? Fuck you with my fingers?"

Cas's whole body moved with the force of his nodding. Sam allowed himself a dry chuckle; Cas loved morning sex and Sam loved indulging him.

"Please, Sam. Yes," Cas said.

And how could anyone deny him, like this? Sam let his thumb press against Cas's entrance, dry, his arm pressed long against Cas's side so that he could just reach, even with the awkward angle. He liked this position, though, hard as it was on his wrist. He liked wrapping his whole body around Cas and holding him still. Cas canted his hips to try to get any part of Sam inside him. With a smile at his eagerness, his sweet unabashed pleading, Sam released him only long enough to grab the bottle of lube from the bedside table. Cas responded by nipping at Sam's neck, humming quietly with pleasure at the taste of Sam's skin against his teeth. He was writhing, and Sam could see that Cas's cock was wet and leaking against his belly. He opened the lube one-handed and poured a liberal amount into his cupped palm before wrapping both arms around the squirming man in his lap and sliding his slick fingers in a wet line between his legs.

"So good, baby," Sam said. "Hold yourself open for me."

Cas's palms were still obediently flat on the mattress, but he wasted no time, rolling back until his knees were in the air and his fingers were scrambling on the parted flesh of his ass as sweat began to shine on his skin. Sam felt an echo of arousal at the sight; he desperately wanted to see Cas fall apart in his lap.

"Stay still, now, sweetheart," Sam said.

Cas stopped moving entirely except for the rise and fall of his ragged breath and the faint all-body tremor he couldn't control. Sam worked him open gradually, easing his fingers inside and enjoying the sight of Cas's cock twitching, untouched, and leaking against his belly.

"So wet for me, baby," Sam said.

He fucked him slowly, three fingers twisting until Sam decided to take pity and stroke firmly again and again, thrusting while Cas whimpered and whined but kept his hips from moving in a near-impossible effort of will. Sam's free hand gripped Cas's hip, fingers framing the jut of bone, grounding him as he pressed mercilessly against his prostate until he felt Cas start to lose control under his hands. Then he released Cas's hip and took his cock in hand instead. He stroked against it slowly, the drag of his flat palm pressing the length into Cas's belly, tapping his fingertips against the head in a staccato tease. He rubbed Cas's cock over and over against, slow pressure over Cas's obediently still hips, building as the light suffusing their bedroom eased into full day.

"Sam. Sam, c- can I...?" Cas said, his breath hot against Sam's throat.

"You can come," Sam said.

He felt Cas tense and then become boneless in an instant, everything releasing as the pulse of his orgasm coated his stomach and Sam's hand in the space of a few shared breaths. Cas's small, happy sigh and the way he nuzzled back against Sam's neck, turning in his arms so he could bury his face there - although Sam couldn't get hard anymore, let alone reach orgasm himself, he felt better seeing Cas fall apart like this than he ever had with his own release. He felt the same giddy rush tenfold from the best sex he ever remembered having laying in bed and counting the pace of Cas's breathing as he settled.

Sam trailed gentle fingers through the sweat soaked hair at the base of Cas's skull, counting vertebrae like a secret language written in braille. The birds were singing outside. He let the weight of peace settle over him as he listened to his lover's happy sighs and murmurs until the outside sounds of breakfast, the smell of coffee, began to intrude.

"Okay," Sam said. "Time to get up, baby."

Cas sighed, letting his hands fall to the mattress from where they were curled against Sam's chest and pushing himself up to a seated position, although he remained in Sam's lap.

"Breakfast is probably getting cold," Cas agreed.

He slid his hands along Sam's chest, his fingers tracing delicate patterns against the soft cotton of Sam's shirt. He paused in speaking long enough to press tender, almost chaste kisses just above the fabric.

"Want me to make you a plate?" Cas asked.

"No," Sam said. "I'll come eat at the table. But let's get you cleaned up first."

Cas smiled and unfolded himself, pausing for one more thorough kiss before he departed from Sam's lap to head into the bathroom for a wash cloth.

 

 

II.

Castiel felt a now familiar heaviness in his limbs, the kind that came from being utterly relaxed and completely grounded in this body that had become his. Sam was holding his hand under the table; Dean had burnt his toast but, smothered in butter, the flavor was rich and filling; the aroma of a freshly brewed second pot of coffee washed over him. Content - that was the word for this human thing he was experiencing. When Dean turned his back, Sam would press gentle, fruit-laden fingers to his lips and feed him by hand. Once in a while, Dean would catch them at this game, and make loud and mock horrified protests while exhorting them to spare him the sight of his little brother in love. These rants made Castiel feel exhilarated; they made him feel home. These were the playful spats of families.

Sam's hand, the one under the table tangled in his own, began to tug itself free. Castiel released it with a sigh. Since falling, he had become addicted to the tactile. The gentle press of skin on skin was the best way to distract himself from the ringing silence in his mind. It wasn't usually sexual. When Sam was resting, he would find any excuse to brush up against Dean, having him show him the parts of an engine with grease stained hands cupped over his own, tuck himself close between the brothers on the couch despite the half hearted lectures Dean delivered on personal space and social norms. Even calling the dog over, letting him rest his snout on Cas's knee while Cas scratched his ears, was better than sitting isolated from that small physical contact.

Sam was feeding the dog a bit of bacon, now. Dean disapproved: of the dog, firstly, and of the dog being allowed to eat "people food," especially. But Dean had been unable to say no when, eight months ago, Sam and Cas had approached him together and made their case for canine companionship. It had taken Dean a month to get over its presence, jumping every time it entered the room and refusing to take it for walks. Of course, the dog had grown on him. He now spent just as much time petting and feeding and walking the mutt as any other member of their little family, although his distrust and loathing for other dogs, dogs that didn't belong to him, was still in full force.

Sam looked well today. He was eating, evidence of at least a little appetite, and while he moved gingerly it seemed more from habit than need. Castiel had a catalogue in his mind a mile long of all of Sam's tells, and he knew that today was going to be a passably good day. Sam caught him looking and smiled, feeding the dog another bit of bacon with a wink at Dean's turned back.

 

_They loved each other with so much before they ever attempted to love each other with their bodies. Cas had loved Sam before, as an angel loves, as he had loved humanity and their frailty and the Winchesters both. He had had a particular love for Sam, too, and more so when he recognized Sam's instinct for sacrifice and suffering that somehow left faith clinging to the edges of his hollowness. But those early nights, curled on the couch against Sam's side and grateful for nothing more than being found again, that love had wormed its way into his newly human soul. He felt love that was both bound in time and therefore encompassing; he loved Sam, not as a fleeting example of something worthy of love but as the only man he would live and die with in imposed mortality. He was grateful that their existences were parallel in time, now, that he would never have to release Sam's soul to heaven and carry on endlessly afterward, as if nothing had changed, as if the universe were not irrevocably altered. He was here, and a billion years before it felt insignificant compared to the broken man and his labored breathing under the blankets as infomercials' glow lit the room._

_This body, which he had taken and worn as a garment, was his entirety now. And it responded to the love infesting his heart. He felt vast and awkward and impossible as his blood sang with desire. He knew it was unfair to impose such feelings on Sam. Sam had been so, so sick at first. He was still in near constant pain, and any strength he had had nothing to do with they physical. So Castiel tried to channel the ascetic wisdom of desert monks; he delivered himself lectures on the castigation of the flesh and stoicism in the face of passion._

_But the first failure, the first hesitant and helpless press of his arousal against Sam's side, had yielded nothing more chastising than a smile and the press of Sam's lips against his own. An easy gesture, natural and pure and Castiel was driven mad by it. He could think of nothing else. They watched films; they drank soup from large handled mugs and told Dean they were feeling better today, as always. But Castiel's mind was aflame with thoughts of Sam's lips, the slow, sure stroke of his tongue. Castiel wanted to crack his own ribs apart and open wide his whole being to Sam's pressing tongue, his fingers, his heart. All that, from just one kiss._

_He pretended interest in the bits and pieces Dean taught him about being human, learning to floss his teeth and how often to change his clothes, or rather, the clothes he borrowed. He carefully avoided the thoughts that intruded about his fallen brethren and their own quests to master dental hygiene or learn what all the different buttons on a remote control were for - the flicker of a memory of another angel was enough to have him recoiling in despair, and Dean worked hard to shield him and Sam both from the aftermath. It was hard enough, breathing and learning to sleep. Besides, most of the angels he would have worried for were dead long before Metatron's spell - and some by his own hand._

_Castiel, despite his bid for asceticism, took to sleeping in Sam's bed. He had initially tried Dean's, and Dean had been patient and supremely uncomfortable, and the rigid board of his body had been nothing but folded arms and radiating tension keeping Castiel awake. Sam had brought Castiel into his bed effortlessly, a natural extension to their comfortable, mutually satisfying naps on their shared couch in the late afternoon. Castiel could not sleep alone, or even think about attempting it. He needed the comfort of someone's touch now that half of his senses had been brutally amputated, and to sleep at all was terrifying in and of itself. He had nightmares, of course, but they were nothing compared to the drifting off of consciousness necessary to falling asleep. Castiel had had quite enough of falling._

_They slept chastely, side by side, for many nights. Sam's hands would cradle his hips, his thumbs tracing the inch of skin exposed between Castiel's tee shirt and flannel pajama bottoms in soothing tenderness. Sam's breath would ruffle Castiel's hair where it lay on the pillow. Once, he repeated the kiss they had shared on the couch, but tenfold this time, their lips sliding endlessly together until Sam drifted off to sleep with Castiel wrapped in his arms, their noses touching as they shared the air they breathed._

_One night, Castiel dreamed of Sam. Sam as he had been; Sam cornering him in their bed and splitting him open with sharp thrusts of his hips that tore Castiel apart from the inside, not brutally but with perfect acceptance and need. He had no way of qualifying this desire; of course, he knew the mechanics of sexual expression and understood that it would be pleasurable to be touched and penetrated and made love to with bold caresses and insistent, urgent passion. The tidal wave that accompanied this knowledge, the complete overturning of his inner life - that had been unexpected._

_After his dream, he had awoken to find wetness seeping from between his legs, soiling his borrowed pajama pants and the sheets he shared with Sam. He felt the hot flush of shame creep from his chest to his neck to his face, another unpleasant physical reaction to human emotion. Sam was, of course and to his utter humiliation, awake and aware of what Castiel's body had done, of its own accord, while he was sleeping. Castiel felt an uneasy certainty that Sam knew the content of the dream that had produced it, although he knew, logically, that it was impossible._

_"It's okay, Cas," Sam said. "Happens to everybody."_

_"It's - " Cas hesitated. "It's difficult. Being near you. Sometimes - I don't mean -"_

_Despite the hesitation, Sam understood.Sam pulled a few tissues from the box on the nightstand, and while Castiel lay on his back and stared at him, Sam cleaned the mess from his stomach with gentle sure movements. As he tugged at the hem of Castiel's pants, he pressed a kiss to Castiel's forehead and Castiel felt his soul sing with the easy acceptance there, that erasure of shame._

_"Let's get you out of these, Cas. It's okay," Sam said. "You don't want to sleep in wet clothes."_

_Cas had already lifted his hips, instinct echoing the heady dominance Sam had given in the dream. Despite the unsatisfying discharge he had achieved in sleep, his body was betraying him yet again, blood rushing to fill his cock at the first brush of Sam's hands under the hem of his pajama pants._

_"Sam," Castiel said._

_He had no idea how to ask, or if it were even fair to ask. But Sam's hand, large on his hip, was moving down his exposed body to hover over his cock._

_"Is this okay?" Sam asked._

_Castiel met his eyes, and saw warmth and love and desire in them. He nodded, would have said please if his breath hadn't been stolen by that gaze. When Sam took him in his hand, he thought he might die. It was immediately completely overwhelming, and he let his head fall back and his eyes slide shut. It was too much and he never wanted it to stop, Sam's tight grip sliding over such sensitive flesh._

_"Look at me," Sam said._

_Castiel's eyes shot open, finding Sam's in the dark. It was hard to focus, but the fire that pooled in his belly when their eyes met was worth it. Sam's hand moved in time with the beat of his heart, and the room was thick with their silence. Castiel realized, observing himself as if from a great distance, that his entire body was flushed and his hips were mirroring the rhythm of Sam's hand in frantic little jerks. They both kept their eyes open when Sam leaned forward and kissed him; Castiel fought the instinct to close them, a tempting impulse under such an overwhelming onslaught of loving attention, but Sam had told him to look. He couldn't look at Sam and see the pulse under his skin, couldn't perceive the layers of his being that had been available to him when he still had his grace, but he had never felt closer to him. God, it felt so good. They kissed deeply, and Castiel felt like he was drinking for the first time. His thirst was massive, unquenchable, and he chased Sam's lips up when he started to break away. This made Sam laugh, but being laughed at like this didn't embarrass Castiel - it felt perfect._

_Castiel regretted the loss of Sam's lips against his only for a moment, the handful of heartbeats it took for Sam to shift and lean over to press those lips against his cock. First, open mouthed kisses dragged from base to tip and then Sam took the head of his cock into his mouth and curled his tongue around it._

_It was incredible, not just the sensation of Sam's mouth on his cock but even more because Sam's hands were tenderly cradling his thighs, Sam's eyes were tethered to his eyes, their hearts were beating at the same rhythm and Castiel didn't feel alone, not now, not when he had this. It was incredible, but he wanted more. Something nameless and deep. Something he'd dreamed._

_"Sam," Castiel said._

_He was surprised when his voice came out a moan, catching in his throat like a bird too awestruck to sing. He tried again._

_"I - Sam, please, I need - " Castiel said._

_Sam made his way slowly from where he was bent on the bed, dragging his body back up until he could kiss Castiel's mouth again. The tang of his own flesh on Sam's tongue was enough to make him groan again. He felt like a possession, like something Sam had picked up off the shelf and lovingly stroked, and he loved that feeling. He could taste himself in Sam's kisses, and feel Sam smile against his mouth._

_"What do you need, baby?" Sam said, speaking the words against his lips._

_Castiel shuddered under him, overwhelmed by trembling, the endearment nearly enough to put him over the edge. Sam was speaking to him as a lover - Castiel was struck by the reality of the moment. This was happening. This thing he'd dreamed of, this thing he'd longed for, this thing he'd promised to try to bury and keep secret was actually happening - and happening right now. He reached for Sam, one hand gripping his bicep._

_"Sam," he said._

_His voice was a whine. God, he wanted this. He didn't know what wanting was before this. His mind stuttered in loops of desire, panic, love, security. Each feeling was discarded and recycled and he just wanted Sam to take him, take all of him, drive thought from his head and show him how to do this._

_"I've got you," Sam said._

_Castiel felt his breath slow to a more reasonable pace. It was all right. Sam was right here. Sam had done this before; he knew. Castiel sought his eyes in the dark._

_"I -" Castiel said._

_Castiel hesitated. Which word to use? He wanted Sam inside him; he wanted Sam to invade him and to erase him and to shatter him. A phrase from movies, a phrase Dean scoffed at, for something so deep words couldn't encapsulate it._

_"M-" Castiel said. He paused again. "Make love to me?"_

_Sam pulled away, an increment, a centimeter, but Castiel felt the loss. He'd said it wrong; he should have asked to be fucked, which was perhaps safer, without all the drama of romance - or the neutral option, he could have asked if Sam wanted to "have sex." He shouldn't have asked, should have just taken what Sam had given freely -_

_"I want to ,Cas," Sam said._

_Castiel became aware of the arm Sam was worming under his shoulders, pulling him closer in an embrace. If he wanted to, why couldn't they - perhaps Sam wasn't attracted to Castiel after all. Perhaps the touches, kisses they'd shared were platonic, "friends helping friends," - something he heard in an echo of Dean's voice. A joke. Castiel felt a rolling nausea in his gut. He started to pull away. He didn't want Sam to feel like he had to hold him, like he had to kiss him, just because they'd been through so much. He didn't want pity. When he felt him trying to sit up, Sam started to shake his head, tightening the grip he had around Castiel's shoulders._

_"I just - I can't. I want to, please, baby - it's not you. Fuck."_

_Castiel felt the frustrated anger boiling under the surface of Sam's skin, the fury at himself, at his body, and at the trials - a fury that he usually kept well buried under a facade of gratitude. To Castiel's horror, Sam was curling in on himself, tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. Oh._ Oh _. This had nothing to do with him at all. Castiel wrapped his arms around Sam, buried his face in his chest, let Sam's arms tighten around him. They held each other in the dark, Castiel's cock a forgotten line between their bodies and Sam's cock soft against his thigh. Of course. He could barely stay awake for more than a few hours, barely walk from the couch to the bedroom without having to pause to catch his breath. Castiel should have realized the rigors of sex were something to save for far in the future, when Sam had had more time to recover. If he did, ever, recover._

_"I'm sorry," Castiel said._

_"No, Cas, seriously. I'm sorry," Sam said. He kissed the top of Castiel's head. "Please. I want to do this for you right now. Can you let me?"_

_As he was speaking, Sam's hand slid down Castiel's belly, caught between their bodies, until it wrapped around his cock once again. Castiel hesitated. It felt unbelievably good, Sam's fingers circling around his cock, but Castiel felt selfish for letting him do this when he was so tired. When he was in so much pain._

_"You don't have to do this, Sam," Castiel said. "It's all right. I'll be... I'll be patient. I'll do better; I'm sorry."_

_Sam shook his head._

_"I want to, Cas. I know I don't have to. I want to be with you; I've wanted it for so long. Can you lay back and let me see you? Want to see you fall apart, baby. It's okay. You're so fucking beautiful like this, sweetheart."_

_So Castiel let him. Castiel fell apart under the stream of gentle praise pouring in words and soft kisses, shattered with the strength of Sam's hand against his cock, felt himself spill out from the deepest parts of his soul and trembled through an orgasm that was intense enough to make him forget his own name. He shook in Sam's arms, after, panting and spent and thinking that maybe, there were some things about falling that were all right, and thinking that, maybe, he could trade wings for love and not regret the exchange. Because he loved Sam. He really, really did. He had already, and now he knew he would never be able to recover from it. The patterns that Sam's fingers traced against the small of his back were answers to every secret question the world had ever cared to ask. When Castiel realized he'd said all of these things out loud he didn't even feel embarrassed. Sam listened, and Sam kissed him._

_"I love you, too," Sam said._

 

"What are you smiling about?" Dean asked. "You two have a good morning while I was out here slaving away over a hot stove?"

Castiel looked up to see Dean, pan in hand, holding yet more bacon over Castiel's plate suspended on a spatula - with a knowing smirk. Before Castiel had a chance to respond, Sam spoke up.

"I was thinking of taking Cas over to the fairgrounds today," Sam said.

Dean squinted at his younger brother even as he served him a second helping of bacon.

"You sure?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. Castiel was surprised, to say the least. Although they had left the house a few times before, since the trials and Castiel's fall, they had never attempted a real all-day outing. Castiel tried to remember if he had ever been to a carnival before. He had, perhaps, observed one - but he had learned by now that that observing wasn't the same at all.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I mean, if you didn't have plans."

Dean snorted.

"Whatever," Dean said. "I can drive you two over there for your cheesy ass date. Sure."

Sam rolled his eyes. He squeezed Castiel's hand under the table and asked Dean to help him get dressed, leaving Castiel to finish his last few strips of bacon. He did so slowly, enjoying the taste, licking the grease from his fingers. He could hear the murmur of voices from the other room: the familiar cadence of brothers talking. He felt a flutter behind his ribs that he identified as excitement. The sunshine dappling the tree outside the kitchen window promised a beautiful day.

 

 

III.

Sam still insisted on riding shotgun, even though he would be more comfortable stretched out in the backseat. The first time they had all gone anywhere in the Impala - a day long drive to see a witch doctor who turned out to have had nothing at all helpful to say - Castiel had tried to bundle Sam into the backseat, pillows and blankets and a thermos. But Dean had understood, of course - although he'd slid one of the pillows onto the passenger side seat and fussed with the blanket Sam had wrapped around his shoulders before reaching over and buckling his goddamn seat belt _for_ him - he had not argued Sam's right, or need, to sit there.

Today, wrapped in layers of fabric to warm his thin, hopeless blood, Sam didn't need the blanket Dean wrapped around his shoulders. He allowed it, though. His brother's hand squeezed his shoulder through the wool.

Honestly, Dean felt more excited than even he was. Sam hadn't given him enough credit, how much he'd grown. The man sitting next to him now was simply thrilled that his best friend and brother had found love, and if it was with each other, so much the better. Sam had expected him to freak out. He honestly had. But when he told Dean that his and Cas's relationship had become something more, something like love, Dean had just pulled him in for a bear hug that left him coughing and told him he was proud and hoped they'd be very happy together. They'd lived some long, hard years, and he had spent a lot of them talking to the adolescent stereotype of his brother that had stuck in his mind rather than the man actually in front of him. They were getting better, now, at talking to each other as men.

"So, Cas, are you going to ride a roller coaster?" Dean asked.

He turned to Sam.

"Does this place even have roller coasters?" Dean said

"I think it has one," Sam said.

"I don't think I want to ride a roller coaster," Castiel said.

Sam found his eyes in the rearview mirror. Castiel was perched in the center of the backseat, frowning and worrying at the sleeve of his sweater. After the twenty five minute drive, Dean pulled the Impala onto the gravel parking lot of the amusement park and eased into a parking space.

"Well, all right, then," Dean said. "Call me if you need me to come pick you up early or anything."

Cas hooked his hand in the crook of Sam's elbow, steadying him on the uneven pavement, and they walked together across the parking lot to the rusted gates. The fairgrounds were almost completely deserted. It was ten o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday, and school was back in session. A few people wandered around, sharing bags of popcorn, probably there on dates of their own.

 

_After their fumbling first time, Sam found it impossible to keep his hands off of Cas._

_He had lain awake for a while, trying to will himself into hardness as Cas dozed against his chest, his hand still sticky with Cas's come. He could feel a faint stirring, a remembrance of the response of his body. He could imagine it so clearly - couldn't help but imagine it. He desperately wanted to bury himself in Cas, sink his teeth into Cas's shoulder and shove his way inside of him. He wanted to feel Cas trembling under him, flip them around, hold him effortlessly and find that perfect push-pull rhythm where they could lose themselves in each other. But he was too weak. He couldn't believe that after all the time he'd spent imagining their first time it would fall apart over something so simple as his inability to get it up. God, how -_

_Although, he could almost tolerate his own embarrassment in the afterglow of seeing Cas come like that. Cas had looked at him not with pity, but with concern, at first, followed by total gratitude and abandon. He had curled up in Sam's arms like there was no where else in the world he'd rather be, and Sam was still cradling him there, like a precious and impossible thing he never imagined he'd get to have. He held Cas until morning, dozing intermittently and waking only to be overwhelmed again by the warmth and comforting heartbeat of the man held against his chest._

_The next day, as they made their journey to the living room couch, Sam could hardly bear the fact that he had to let go of Cas long enough to walk. Of course, his arm was wrapped around Cas's shoulders and that hot line of contact sang through him until they settled among the cushions, Sam laying back and Cas, unhesitating, sprawled out half on top of him. Dean, mercifully, said nothing and merely set a bowl of popcorn within easy reach on the coffee table, next to the remote._

_"I'll be outside," Dean said._

_He ruffled Sam's hair on the way out. Sam heard the faint grumble of the lawn mower, coaxed into starting with considerable effort. Cas's hand slid up his chest and came to rest over his heart. The sun caught in the wool fibers of the blanket, and everything felt closed in and hot as dust motes danced in the air._

_The buttery scent of popcorn filled the room. Cas was glancing at the bowl, and Sam could hear his stomach grumble. Sam grabbed a piece and held it to Cas's lips. Cas instantly opened his mouth for Sam's fingers, delicately taking the morsel of popcorn and chewing it before his hands came up to circle Sam's wrist, sucking Sam's fingers into his mouth and licking the salt from them. He was thorough, his gaze focused and intent. Only when the last speck of butter was licked from Sam's skin did he release his wrist and rest his head back over Sam's heart._

_"Want to watch a movie?" Sam asked._

_Cas stared him down, his neck craning so that he could look at Sam without lifting his head from where it lay pillowed on Sam's chest. Those serious blue eyes that met his for just a little longer than could be comfortable. Sam stared back._

_"I want you to touch me again," Cas said. "If - if you want."_

_"Yes, Cas," Sam said. "I want to. Very much."_

_They put the movie on, as a cover for the tiny, pleasured sounds they couldn't help but make. Sam felt a little bit like a teenager, or like he imagined a normal teenager would have felt, turning the volume on the TV up and hoping no one walked in. A fraction of his attention was on the hum of the lawn mower, the noise that meant his brother was still occupied and they had a little more time, and the rest was swallowed by the overwhelming presence of his fallen angel._

_Sam just couldn't get enough of touching Cas. Little circles of his thumbs against Cas's hips while he sucked on his tongue, sliding palms that cupped just under Cas's ass and pulled him in as if if he just tried he'd be able to bring him close enough to satisfy that need. Sam's hands explored every inch of Cas's body under the claustrophobic heat of the blankets, the drone of the lawn mower outside and the determined score of the action thriller blaring from the television speakers. He laced their fingers together, he wound his hands in Cas's hair and pulled until Cas whined and arched and begged, nearly incoherent. Sam used his hands to tug and yank at Cas's clothing until he was able to get around it, get it out of the way, press his fingerprints into Cas's bare skin without pausing in their kissing each other once. Cas's lips were swollen from Sam's kisses, and his cock dug insistently against Sam's hip. Sam tugged Cas's pajama pants down around his thighs so he could trail needy fingers against his bare skin, feel the hot line of his bare cock pressing against him. However, Sam resisted the urge to give into his lover's urgency, enjoying the slow pace, the need to be thorough, the need to map out ever inch of Cas's body, to feel his pulse beat through his skin._

_Cas's hips moved in little jerks, rutting against Sam's body, sliding the skin of his cock against the fabric of Sam's pajama pants. Sam could feel his breath falter, see the flush creeping up his neck, and knew Cas wasn't going to last like this much longer. Sam pulled his hair, hard enough to get his attention and raise his head up to meet his eyes. At the same time, he brought his other hand down firmly on Cas's ass, the sound of skin on skin muffled by the pile of blankets on top of them both. Cas stilled immediately with a little moan, his eyes sliding shut and his body going limp._ Thought so, _Sam thought to himself._

_"Stay still, baby," Sam said._

_Cas sighed, and in that sound was surrender and contentment both. Cas slumped against him like all the weight of the world had been taken from his shoulders, nuzzled against Sam's chest, just a little, in gratitude. Sam stroked his hand through Cas's hair, fingernails scraping teasingly along his scalp, soothing the places where he'd pulled seconds before. His other hand stroked big circles along the back of Cas's tee shirt, tracing his spine, catching on his shoulder blades, sweeping from his tailbone to his shoulders in a lazy, counter clockwise movement._

_Cas's breathing slowed, although his cock was still an insistent sharpness against Sam's hip. Sam gave him a minute, grounding him with the gentle balance of his hands on his body - this was so new to him, after all. But when his heart beat reached a deeper, steadier rhythm, Sam resumed kissing him. Cas opened to him easily, letting Sam slide their tongues together, letting Sam trace each of his teeth. Sam let one of his hands find its way between their bodies, tugging Cas's shirt up but not removing it entirely, a spark of excitement at the back of his mind - couldn't take it all the way off, someone could walk in any minute, secret and forbidden and delicious. He pushed his way under Cas's shirt and found a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and relishing the way Cas whined into his mouth. He felt Cas's hips start to move, instinct, and then Cas remembered and stilled. Oh, yes. He had suspected - for all his strength, the need to fall on his knees in front of someone was as inherent to Cas's nature as his gravity. The feeling that infused him, in that moment that Cas caught himself and obeyed, was more than simple arousal. There was an echo of arousal, a memory that bore no relation to his current physical condition. But what he felt with Cas's heat and weight and love pressing down on him wasn't arousal - it was joy._

_"Do you still want me inside you?" Sam asked._

_Cas lifted his head and found Sam's eyes with his own. His pupils were blown to hell, sweat glistening at his temples, and his expression was cautious, nervous, hopeful, unsure._

_"Yes," he said._

_Just that, jut one simple word spoken honestly. Not "how," not "what do you mean," not "can you?" Just trust that Sam knew what he needed and would give him everything he could. Sam kissed him again, his fingers stepping, tap tap tap, up Cas's sides until his hands framed Cas's face, holding him in cupped palms and kissing him, kissing him until neither of them could breathe anymore. When they broke apart, panting into each other's mouths and Cas's eyes lowered to dark lashes against his pale skin, Sam let two fingers of his right hand trace along the red, kiss-swollen pucker of Cas's lips, rubbing there. Cas's eyes slid shut, his lips parted and he panted against Sam's hand._

_"Open," Sam said._

_Cas led his mouth fall open, and Sam pressed two fingers against his tongue._

_"Can you suck for me, sweetheart?"_

_Cas whimpered, closed his lips around Sam's knuckles, and sucked hard against Sam's fingers. The feeling was like a punch in the gut, holy shit, it felt so good. Sam could remember what a mouth felt like against his cock, and god, Cas's mouth felt incredible. He tugged at Cas's hand with his left hand, lacing their fingers together, bringing Cas's hand up to his own mouth and pressing an open mouthed kiss to the back of it. Cas sighed around his fingers, sucked in a ragged breath and closed his lips again, swallowing and curling his tongue to trace against each finger nail. Sam groaned, blown away by how much such a simple thing was affecting him. He turned Cas's hand in his own, brought the side of it to his mouth and bit him, sinking his teeth in - not too hard, just enough to taste the salt tang of his skin and muffle his own moans._

_Cas was moaning, too, around the fingers in his mouth, wanton. Both of their bodies were still, just the heaviness of Cas's weight on top of Sam and the heat of the mid afternoon sun caressing the blankets over their bodies, their whole worlds reduced to the interplay between their mouths and hands. Sam continued to clutch at Cas's hand where it rested in his own, throwing his head back against the pillows as Cas continued to suck on his fingers._

_"Cas, that feels so good. You're so good, baby," Sam said._

_His voice sounded a little breathless, and he could feel his heart thudding hard in his chest. He could feel it echoed where Cas's chest pressed against his own. Sighing, and with a little reluctance, he pulled his fingers free from the perfect heat of Cas's mouth. He paused, his spit soaked hand curled just behind Cas's head, arrested by the sight of him. Cas's lips were parted, he was panting slightly, his head still cradled on Sam's chest and his eyes finding Sam's, vulnerable and needy. Sam looked at him, holding his gaze with his own while his fingers found their way under the blankets, sliding their way into the crease of Cas's ass, rubbing wetly against his hole. Sam could feel it clench under his fingertips as Cas's whole body shuddered against his. Sam traced his rim with a single finger, nearly breathless with anticipation himself and wanting to drag it out, just feel Cas shaking on top of him and needing him and listen to the whine starting deep in Cas's chest and vibrating through the room. He could feel Cas's cock like a brand on his hip, impossibly hard, but Cas was staying still for him. Sam wasn't going to make him wait much longer; he slid his index finger inside Cas in one long, steady push past the knuckle. Cas made a broken sound, twisting his neck to bury his face against Sam's shoulder but keeping his lower body heavy and unmoving under the intrusion._

_"I've got you," Sam said._

_He felt more powerful than he had in months; his body was still weak, he could feel the ache in his bones even now, pain intruding at the edges of his mind. But he could take Cas apart with just his voice and his hands; for once, it felt like enough. The stark difference between Cas's normal serious affect and the complete abandon he was displaying now, the primal need and openness that came from something as simple as Sam's lips against his or a single finger penetrating his body, was one of the most incredible things Sam had ever experienced. He couldn't get enough of it. He fucked his finger in and and out, setting a steady pace, sliding the second finger in alongside it, swallowing Cas's whines with deep kisses. Cas's hips jerked a few times, and Sam felt Cas clench around his fingers with the effort of keeping still._

_Sam could feel that he was just at the edge, that it wouldn't take much to push him over. He rode that line for as long as he could, slowing down just as it became almost too much for Cas to bear and then ramping him right back up again, with nothing more than the twist of his fingers inside of Cas's body. He adjusted their position on the couch with murmured words and direction from his free hand, realigning Cas's body so he was straddling Sam's thigh and his cock was pressed hard just above Sam's knee. Sam propped himself up, huffing a laugh as they struggled to find their balance again and shoving a pillow behind his lower back so that he could easily reach to shove his fingers even deeper into Cas's ass, scissoring them until he could feel his hole puffy and stretched wide around his knuckles, hypersensitive._

_Sam lifted his knee, bouncing his leg in increments, and Cas's hips slid up and down against his thigh, jostling his cock._

_"Oh," Cas moaned._

_Cas dug his face even harder into Sam's shoulder, body shaking in what was almost a sob, as Sam rubbed against his cock. He started to push back, canting his hips up against Sam's thrusting fingers and rutting his cock down against his leg. Sam pulled his fingers out immediately, his leg going still._

_"Cas," he said. His voice was gentle, his hand kneading at the place Cas's ass met his thigh._

_"I'm sorry," Cas said. "I'll - I'll stay still. Please, Sam. It - this feels - I feel so good, Sam. Please don't stop."_

_"Shh, baby. It's okay. I'm going to get you there, Cas. Just trust me; I'm going to make you feel so good, sweetheart," Sam said._

_Cas was nodding against his chest._

_"Need - I need you," Cas said._

_He was perfectly still, now, boneless and heavy against Sam. When Sam moved his leg, an inch if that, Cas groaned loud in the closeness of the room, but his hips stayed motionless where they rested against Sam's body. Sam breathed his words directly into Cas's ear, punctuating them with the press of his teeth on Cas's ear lobe._

_"That's it, baby. Are you going to take what I give you?"_

_"I - yes, Sam. Yes, yes," Cas said._

_Cas was shuddering and still on top of him. Sam's words made the cock pressed against his thigh twitch and leak; each gentle command, each quiet correction only heightened the arousal of the man pressing down on him. Sam was heady with it, dizzy from the depth of trust and obedience Cas gave as naturally as breathing. Every little assertion was met with even more openness as Sam pushed, pulled, tested the responses of his lover and his own need. By the time the third "yes" fell from Cas's lips, Sam believed him. Believed him utterly, and determined to dedicate himself to making sure Cas never regretted giving Sam such absolute permission._

_He slid both fingers back into Cas's body without warning, and Cas's moan echoed in the room, barely drowned out by the firefight playing out on the television, but he did not move. He was still stretched and loose, and Sam easily fucked his fingers in and out of his body, adding a third after a moment and relishing the noises Cas made. He lifted his knee again, slowly this time, so Cas began to slide along his leg, his full weight pressing his cock against the firmness of Sam's thigh. Sam contrasted the slow lift and lowering of his leg, the slide of pressure against Cas's cock, with the brutal pace set by his fingers. He fucked hard and fast into Cas's body, watching the minute reactions of his lover's body, Cas's legs falling open under the onslaught, Cas's back arching just slightly to open himself even more to Sam's intruding fingers._

_It didn't last very long. Cas's orgasm took him by complete surprise, and Sam couldn't help but grin as the first spurt of come soaked through his pajama pants to cool against his skin and Cas's eyes shot open. Sam kept the eye contact, supporting Cas through each pulse of his orgasm with loving, protective attention. Cas's hole squeezed around his fingers, and Cas arched his back into it even more, clearly overwhelmed by how good it felt to come with something inside him. He clenched tight around Sam's fingers, drawing him into his body, eyes wide with wonder. His fingers were clutching at Sam's shoulders, trying to keep his balance as Sam continued to gently bounce Cas's whole body on his leg, grinding against Cas's cock until he'd milked every last drop of come from him and even a little bit longer, relishing the shivery, oversensitive response he pulled from his lover. Cas had given over to a full throated whine, now - it was a happy surprise how vocal Cas was in bed, given how quiet he could be elsewhere - and pressed a kiss to the top of Cas's head as he gradually stilled._

_Sam indulged himself, lifting up on his elbows so that he could see the pretty gape as he gently pulled his fingers free of Cas's body. He felt a surge of something, testosterone and possessiveness, at how wrecked Cas looked. It didn't matter that he couldn't get hard, couldn't force Cas onto his knees bent over the coffee table and fuck him senseless and streak his own come across the small of his back - he could ruin him with just his fingers. Sam's whole body felt charged, alive. Somehow, this had been just as much a release for him as an orgasm would have been. He let his mind wander through the hazy afterglow until he was drawn gently back by Cas's voice, murmuring gratitude into his collar bone._

_"Thank you, Sam," Cas said, over and over. "I - I feel so good. Hold me, please. Touch me. Don't stop."_

_"I'm never going to stop, Cas. Not ever," Sam tightened his arms around Cas's ribs, pulling him even tighter into the embrace. He let his fingernails scrape down Cas's sides, gentle, just enough to make goose bumps rise on Cas's skin. He let one hand slide back down to Cas's ass, teasing at his rim, worrying at the hypersensitive flesh while Cas sighed and wriggled against him. The wetness between their bodies squished with each shift, and Sam felt like a god. He had completely taken Cas apart and Cas wanted more. The aftermath was slow, delicious sin - he could do anything. Cas was his. He could fingerfuck him until he got hard again, he could make out with him for hours until he was incoherent and pleading and not let him come until they went to bed for the night with nothing more than a word._

_Outside, the drone of the lawn mower had stopped. The credits were rolling on the action flick, an upbeat hip hop song emitting from the speakers. Cas's come was drying against his thigh, making the fabric of his pajama pants stiff._

_"You should go and get cleaned up, sweetheart," Sam said._

_Cas looked at him, uncertain._

_"It's okay, baby," Sam said. "Don't worry. I'll get you good and dirty again tonight."_

_That was all Cas needed to hear. They shared sleepy smiles, slightly self-conscious in the aftermath. Sam's mind was still reeling from the intensity, the impossible rightness of what felt like it had been so long awaited. He felt magnetized toward Cas, and was unbelievably grateful that Cas seemed to feel the same. He patted his hip, gentle encouragement to send Cas off to the bathroom for a quick wash before Dean came in to force dinner on them._

_Cas stumbled as he got up on unsteady legs, bumping into the coffee table and spilling the popcorn all over the floor. Sam laughed, loud and sudden, and Cas answered his laughter with a genuine smile. He sank to his knees, sheepish at the edge of the couch as popcorn crunched against his shins where they pressed against the carpet._

_"Easy, baby," Sam said._

_He reached out and grabbed the back of Cas's neck, effortless and possessive, and pulled him in for a kiss._

There was something about the chilly bite in the air that had excitement uncoiling in Sam's belly, the edge of fall in it. He walked, hand in hand with Cas, through the fairgrounds, breathing deeply. He could feel that the same excitement sang in Cas's blood, the clench of his lover's fingers and the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners. Sam bought them both candy apples, and they found a bench to eat them on. They watched the roller coaster as it cycled around, reaching the crest of the small hill over and over, and rattling its way down over wooden slats. Cas looked completely horrified by it, pausing with a half chewed bite of candy apple in his mouth as the two or three lonely riders screamed with delight as the car raced along a curve in the track.

"Why would someone subject themselves to 'high speeds, sudden stops, and sharp turns'?" Cas asked, quoting the posted warning sign at the roller coaster's entrance.

He had spent at least two solid minutes squinting at it before he had agreed to sit down and eat his candy apple. Sam chuckled, brushing a bit of candy from Cas's lip with his thumb. No one was looking, and Cas licked the candy back into his mouth, his tongue delicately lapping at the pad of Sam's thumb to clear the stickiness before Sam pulled away, resting that hand on top of their joined ones.

"For fun, I guess," Sam said. "Don't worry, we're not going on that one."

Sam had been on roller coasters a few times, growing up. There had been two weeks spent in a motel down the street from a carnival once when he was about thirteen, and he and Dean had figured out how to hop the fence and get in without paying the steep admission prices. They had ridden the rides all day while Dad had been finishing up a hunt, daring each other to get on the biggest, steepest, and fastest roller coasters until they had experienced every one in the park twice. Sam had puked cotton candy and popcorn on Dean's shoes, and been declared the ultimate loser of the day. He hadn't been on a roller coaster since. Besides, the ancient, rattling thing in front of them made his bones hurt just looking at it.

Cas was regarding him with thick suspicion, brows furrowed in his characteristic frown.

" _That_ one?" he asked.

His voice was full of trepidation, and Sam grinned and took a big bite of his candy apple in lieu of answering.

 

 

IV.

Castiel was _not_ afraid of the roller coaster. He simply didn't understand the point, that was all. And it looked much too unsturdy. He wouldn't want to risk Sam's safety by riding, in case one of the cars derailed or they fell from their flimsy restraints on one of the sharp curves. (Castiel had mastered the human skill of lying to himself, perhaps, but he still wasn't getting on the damn roller coaster.)

Other than his contemplation of the awful ride, Castiel quite liked the amusement park. It was a beautiful day to be outside, Sam's hand was warm in his, and the candy apple was delicious. He listened to Sam's description of the different kinds of "carnival food," happy when he was promised funnel cakes and corn dogs for their dinner. Sam was acting strange, a little, but it wasn't unsettling - there was a boyish excitement to him that Castiel only very rarely saw. He kept sliding his hand into his pocket, rubbing it against his thigh, jiggling his foot as he talked about a case he and Dean had worked involving a haunted ferris wheel somewhere in Michigan.

They wandered around, encountering very few other people besides the tired-looking workers in their emblazoned polo shirts. As the day lengthened into late afternoon, the crowd thinned out even more and there was only one corner of the park they had yet to explore. Cas felt Sam tug at his hand, hastening his steps as they approached a huge gate, from which the sound of rushing water was roaring. The sign said "Tunnel of Love" in sculpted letters that were framed by molded, plaster dolphins. Sam approached the ride operator, an elderly woman who was steadily working her way through a pack of cigarettes while penciling in the answers on a small town newspaper crossword. She looked annoyed to be interrupted, but when Sam shook her hand Cas saw him pass her a twenty. He whispered something, and the woman smiled and nodded before gesturing at the empty queue and settling back in to continue working on her cross word, not paying them any mind. When Sam came back to where Castiel was waiting, reaching out and leading him by the hand through the gaudy gate, Castiel heard the click of the velvet rope being secured behind them, a sign reading "ride closed" swaying in the breeze.

The antechamber just inside the ride was dark and cool, filled with the sound of rushing water and the creak of rusted gears. Castiel gave his human eyes a moment to adjust to the faint glow of the lights, gradually perceiving a turning platform a few steps ahead. There were frescoes adorning the walls, scenes from mythology depicting the pathos of love. The heavy bosom of Daphne being overcome by bark and leaves, Shakespeare's tragic star crossed lovers dead on the floor of a tomb. Castiel smiled sadly. No, that wasn't what love was at all. Love was waking up in the morning to the instant, perfect happiness of another body curled next to yours. Love was reaching a place where self consciousness or doubt or fear no longer felt possible. Love eased pain; it didn't generate it, and it was created and shared in mutual respect. But perhaps those things didn't make for dramatic decorative painting.

"Well?" Sam asked.

Castiel looked at him, his lover with hand outstretched, and reached for him without hesitation. They stepped onto the moving platform, laughing as they tried to regain their balance. In an instant, it was as if they were standing still and the whole world was turning around them. They stepped heavily on the creaking slats, heading for the rushing stream at the center of the antechamber. Their was a white, looming shape ahead. Sam pulled him toward it. Through the dim light, Castiel vaguely made out the shape of two swans, their backs hollowed out into a plush heart with a bench at the center, their heads curled forward, their necks touching, pointing toward the arch into which the stream was flowing.

Sam let Castiel help him into the boat first, his hands framing Sam's waist as he stepped over the molded plaster wing. Castiel climbed in afterward, precarious as the boat lurched and bucked into the water, letting Sam catch his forearms and pull him down to sit side by side with their backs cradled by the mock swans' tails. Sam could barely fold his long legs into the boat, his knees protruding at an awkward angle as he laughed and wrapped his arm around Castiel's shoulder. With some maneuvering, Sam found a position where his feet pressed against the wet ground at the front of the boat and his legs bent enough that he was no longer in danger of bashing a knee on the fast approaching arch. It opened into blackness, and they splashed toward it at a slow roll in the progress of the stream. Castiel could hear the creak of the gears, the clap of the water on the underside of the boat, the faint roar of the echo of the stream ahead. He felt anticipation coil in his belly as they approached the blackness, and he found Sam's hand and held it in his own, between them.

His heart thrilled in his chest as they plunged through the arch and into the purple blue light beyond. Faint, tinny music swirled around the boat, and there were sparkling lights the reflected myriad colors in the waters around them. The sunlight filtered through in a few broken places above their heads, gaps in the boards, and Castiel let his head fall to Sam's shoulder as he stared up. They bumped along the course as the lights flickered and shifted, a slow, restful circle that Sam's thumb chased across the skin of Castiel's palm as they went.

 

 

"Come here," Sam said.

Castiel shifted closer, bringing his face up for Sam to kiss. The music started over again, the same jangly tune, but Castiel barely heard it under the thoroughness of Sam's kiss. He felt like Sam was licking his way into the center of his soul, a slow intrusion into his being that let everything else fall away. Castiel sighed into the kiss, opened to it, and felt Sam follow. They kissed so, so deeply, lulled by the rocking of the boat, unhurried. When Sam finally pulled his lips away, they spent just as long gazing at each other, breathing. There was a sudden, grating sound - the boat reconnecting with the track, and they both laughed as they startled even closer into each other's arms. Sam let his forehead rest against Castiel's forehead, and they breathed each other in as the boat circled back into the antechamber.

"Is the ride over?" Castiel said.

Sam shook his head, made no move to get up. He looked overcome, a little, as his thumbs dragged against Castiel's temples, his hands still resting on the sides of Castiel's face.

"Want to go again?" Sam asked.

Castiel nodded, and let Sam fold him back into an embrace. He remembered the folded bills Sam had slipped to the ride operator, the "closed" sign that had dangled from the chain. They could, he imagined, go around and around as long as they liked.

By the third rotation, their kisses were more urgent, carried more intent. Sam's hands had tugged Castiel's shirt until it came untucked and his fingers could tease the skin of his belly, dip into his his navel and chase along the waistband of his jeans. Sam was talking, a steady stream of words that flowed with the rhythm of his fingers, the rhythm of the boat.

"There's hardly any of these rides left in the world," Sam said. "They're a leftover of the nineteenth century, when lovers could only hold hands in the dark. These 'tunnels of love' used to be a little scandalous, back then."

Sam's hand had succeeded in unbuckling his belt, and popping the button on his jeans so that he could reach in and wrap his fist around Castiel's cock.

"Although," Sam said, his voice thick with desire in the dark, "I suppose this is a little scandalous even by today's standards."

Castiel sighed at the perfect strength in Sam's grip, the hard squeeze along his cock from root to tip. He let himself fall further into Sam's arms, twisting so his back was partially across Sam's lap and Sam could stroke him easily, his wrist settling at a comfortable angle and slow rhythm that made Castiel's toes curl. Castiel let his gaze drift to the ceiling, the peaceful rocking of the boat in the water as Sam held him secure. He watched the lights blink overhead, drifting, carried away by the steady caress of Sam's fingers and the soft cadence of Sam's voice, which he could feel as much as he could hear it, rumbling through the firm chest behind him.

This time, when the boat reengaged with the groove of the track, Sam's grip tightened until Castiel whimpered.

"Does that feel good, baby?" Sam asked.

His hand moved harder, more insistently. Castiel murmured incoherent assent, squirming in Sam's arms to try to get more contact between their bodies, trying to find Sam's lips so he could be kissed. Sam indulged him, dripping praise between soft smiles.

"I want - " Castiel said.

He broke off after a well executed twist of Sam's wrist removed any semblance of coherent thought from his mind, letting out a low moan, before panting back to his train of thought.

"Sam," he said. "I want to - to touch you. Please."

Castiel was overcome with the need to give Sam something, to give Sam everything. This whole day had been so lovely, the brisk autumn air, the corn dogs, the secret touches shared in a boat shaped like a swan. Castiel felt cherished, and safe, and he desperately wanted to show Sam, somehow, how grateful he was.

"Okay," Sam said.

He gingerly released his grip on Castiel's cock with a last, teasing brush of fingers against his slit that made Castiel hiss. Sam regarded him, his gaze both affectionate and possessive, and Castiel basked in it. He pulled himself free from Sam's arms, which were wound around his torso. Sam watched him curiously, wondering what he would do. Castiel slid free from the bench, careful not to lose his balance or rock the boat too heavily, and sank to his knees on the wet sandpaper floor. There was barely enough room for him between Sam's legs, but he situated himself so that he could rest his head on Sam's thigh and let Sam stroke his hair for a few heartbeats.

This was one of Castiel's favorite places to be. Sometimes, when they'd watch television in the evenings, Sam would let Castiel sit at his feet by the couch, head resting on Sam's lap and arms curled loosely around Sam's calves. He would float there, soothed by the steady, meditative strokes of Sam's hand through his hair and the drone of a nature documentary turned on low volume in the background.

Now, though, he didn't waste too much time resting. He slid his hands up under Sam's sweater, tugging his tee shirt up, getting his palms against the flat plane of Sam's stomach to stroke the skin there. Sam sighed, leaning back against the swans' tails, relaxing under Castiel's gentle touch. Castiel had spent a lot of time learning how to give Sam pleasure, hours spent learning how to massage his aching muscles, where and how Sam liked to be kissed, ways that he could, through his own writhing and pleading and moans, bring Sam just as much release as his own orgasm from their time together in bed. Sam relaxed under his hands, watching Castiel's movements on the floor of the boat. Castiel gradually let his hands slide lower, running his thumbs reverently along the curve of Sam's hips, leaning forward to let his forehead rest against Sam's solar plexus, breathing him in.

Castiel undid Sam's belt, popped the button at the top of his jeans, slid the zipper down until he could see the slight bulge under Sam's gray boxer briefs. Castiel lowered his head just enough that his breath ghosted against the slit in the fabric, resting his cheek against Sam's hip as his fingers continued to stroke at the elastic waistband of Sam's underwear.

"Cas," Sam said.

There was a note of warning in his voice, but Castiel was determined. He tugged the elastic down around Sam's thighs, just enough to expose Sam's cock. Castiel nuzzled against it, pressing kisses along what, even soft, was an impressive length.

"Baby, come on," Sam said. "You know I can't."

Castiel sat back on his heels and looked Sam dead in the eye.

"You don't have to do anything," Castiel said. "I don't expect anything. I just want to touch you. Please, Sam."

Sam watched him, and for a moment Castiel thought he was going to refuse. He would respect it, of course he would respect it - but before Castiel could get too far away Sam was nodding.

"Yeah, okay," Sam said.

Castiel immediately rocked forward and took Sam's cock inside his mouth, surrounded it with warmth and rolled it on his tongue. He loved the way Sam tasted; he lost himself in that taste. Sam's hands were running through his hair, and gradually the tension that Sam was holding in his body, the hesitation, eased out of him. He stroked Castiel's hair and sighed, a deep, restful sound. Castiel pulled his mouth back to lick and kiss along Sam's cock, his balls, his thighs and hips, before taking his soft cock in his mouth once again and just letting it rest on his tongue, little swallows and flutters in his throat, breathing through his nose.

"Feels nice," Sam said.

He spoke as if he were unaware of that he'd said anything out loud, his head lolling back against the sculpted tail feathers behind him. Sam's hands slid along Castiel's scalp, gripped his shoulders, came back up to tug at his hair. Castiel let his tongue curl around the head of Sam's cock, worrying at the groove underneath, tracing the veins and suckling gently. He twirled his tongue against the slit at the tip, tracing figure eights and nameless patterns there. Sam groaned, a startled sound, stark against the mindless, repetitive music that filled the cavern they were floating in.

Castiel hadn't been expecting anything, but when he felt the faint twitch of Sam's cock against the roof of his mouth, his heart thrilled in his chest. He continued his patient ministrations as if nothing had happened, although Sam's fingers tightened in his hair and he made a faintly strangled sound. Cas felt the tepid flow of blood through the vein braced against his tongue as he continued to roll Sam's cock around in his mouth, relishing the taste, the weight of it.

"Cas, oh my god, baby," Sam said. "Cas, that feels so good, sweetheart. Oh, fuck, just like that."

Castiel continued, feeling perhaps a little smug, for the next three repetitions of their track through the tunnel of love. Sam didn't get hard, not all the way, although his cock thickened a little under Castiel's attention. It didn't matter, because what Castiel was doing was enough to make Sam sigh and groan with pleasure, hands tightly pulling against his hair and the sharp bite on his scalp going right to Castiel's own cock. He moaned around Sam's cock, feeling the vibrations rumble up from his chest to tease against the sensitive flesh he held in his mouth. Sam bent forward, his spine curling in on itself in pleasure, and Castiel didn't stop even though his jaw began to ache and his knees felt raw from the rough texture of the floor of the boat.

Castiel had read it was possible, but he was still surprised when Sam began to shake and clutch roughly at his shoulders, his cock twitching a little bit more against the roof of Castiel's mouth until he pulled Castiel off to stare at him in wonder. He had _read_ that it was possible, for a man to have an orgasm without ejaculating, without even getting hard all the way, but he hadn't been sure if they'd be able to achieve it. He didn't mind Sam's inability to get an erection; it didn't matter to him at all when Sam was so clever with his fingers, with his tongue, with his commanding voice and firm touches. But the way Sam was looking at him now, eyes full of wonder, made him wish he'd pushed to try this sooner.

"Cas," Sam said.

His voice cracked, and he had to draw in a ragged breath before he could finish, still trembling in the wake of his first orgasm in three years.

"God, you're so incredible," Sam said.

Castiel sat back on his heels and allowed the smile to come to his face, looking up at the man he loved. Sam grinned back and reached forward, and Castiel climbed back onto the bench seat until Sam could wrap him up in his arms.

"I'm going to make you come so hard, sweetheart," Sam promised.

His hands were already tearing at Castiel's clothes with a fevered energy as Castiel lay back against Sam's chest. His pants were tugged down around his knees, the rough surface of the bench harsh against his overly sensitized flesh. Castiel was impossibly turned on. He'd come to relish this feeling, where his whole being zeroed in on Sam's touch. The scrape of Sam's nails against his sides was enough to drive every other thought from Castiel's mind. Sam wasted no time in foreplay; Castiel couldn't be any more turned on if Sam spent a hundred years teasing him. He was past the point of moaning, or panting Sam's name. He was so focused on the hot coil of pleasure unrolling in his gut that he was silent, his eyes screwed shut, his fingers cramped in a death grip on Sam's forearm where he was holding on for dear life as Sam moved his hand fast and hard and rough over Castiel's cock. He forgot to breathe, and stars sparked against his eyelids as he bucked his hips up into Sam's hand. Usually, he would try to be good, try to stay still, try to whine and plead and make all the little noises Sam liked, but right now, it was so good and so much. Castiel's orgasm punched out of him; he was shocked by it and he hollered into Sam's shoulder, twisting to press his face into the fabric of Sam's shirt under the onslaught of sensation.

When he finally finished and refocused on his body, which felt empty and spent and light enough to float up to the ceiling, he zeroed in on how incredible Sam's breath felt where it gently ruffled his hair. Sam held up his come streaked hand, and Castiel reached out to grab his wrist with both of his his. He licked Sam's hand clean, long strokes of his tongue that had Sam letting out a shuddery breath, until the skin was pink and clean. Sam tucked him back in his clothes, and they lay back in the swan shaped boat and stared up at the lights until their breathing slowed.

"I think it's evening," Castiel said eventually into the silence.

The gaps in the ceiling, which had allowed glimpses of sunlight and blue sky when they first boarded this ride, were now a fading pink. Castiel felt heavy, like he could sink into the earth, through the water, and rest there without effort. He felt perfectly happy, and if the soft murmurs Sam made in assent were any indication, his lover was similarly content. It was another rotation, through the juttery track and back out into the loose freedom of the flowing stream, before Sam spoke in answer.

"Come watch the sunset with me," Sam said.

"Yes," Castiel said, although it hadn't been a question, really.

They dragged their weighty bodies from the bench, straightened their clothes, and tumbled back onto the rotating platform of the antechamber. They stood for a moment, leaning against each other for balance, and watched the world spin impossibly around them before setting their unsteady feet back on the unmoving floor.

Sam was tired; Castiel could feel his exhaustion. But it was easy to support his weight, Sam's arm around his shoulder as they stepped together toward the gate. They would re emerge into the fading light, the deserted carnival streets, the flapping of tents in the breeze and the smell of fried food to make their stomachs awaken and grumble. They would walk arm and arm into the red haze of the setting sun, buying an extra funnel cake for Dean, and their feet would point the way back to the parking lot, to the back seat of the Impala, and then home. Castiel let Sam take his hand and bring it to his lips, both of them hesitating a moment on that threshold. Castiel turned into Sam's arms, leaning in, and they kissed deeply in the fading light.

"Sam?" Castiel murmured against his lips.

"Yeah, Cas?" Sam said.

"This ride was much more pleasant than the roller coaster would have been," Castiel said, and swallowed Sam's laughter in another kiss.

 

IV.

Sam was bone tired. Every inch of him ached, but he couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop clutching at Castiel's hand as they exited the "Tunnel of Love" and reentered the sunset world of the fairgrounds at dusk. The vendors had adorned themselves with glow sticks, and Sam bought several in different colors for Cas, feeling indulgent. He smiled at the delight that flashed across Cas's face as they cracked the neon strands, bringing out their faint, unearthly light and winding them around his wrist to illuminate the way back to the parking lot.

They walked together, talking about nothing, about the history of carnivals or the best recipe for fresh squeezed lemonade, until the sun reached the perfect moment of hovering just above the horizon. The sky was awash in reds and pinks and oranges, and the world seemed to hold its breath as the first stars glimmered in the east. There was no one else in sight, the already thin crowd having beat them to the parking lot and the vendors disappeared to their trucks to put away their wares.

He had worried at first that he was going to lose his nerve. Dean had give him an embarrassingly long pep talk in the bedroom this morning, tugging Sam's sweater over his head and abusing sports metaphors left and right. But, with Castiel's hand in his, it didn't feel difficult or scary at all.

Sam stopped walking, and Cas followed suit, a curious look dancing across his face. Sam squeezed his hand, took a deep breath, and reached into his pocket for the ring before folding, with a bit of effort, to one knee.

He was pretty sure that Cas was going to say yes.

–

Six months earlier:

_Sam had dragged himself out of bed in the middle of the night, body wracked with too much pain to sleep and needing a drink of water, a walk, a distraction - and he'd been rewarded with the best piece of ammunition a little brother could hope for. Dean was sprawled out on the couch, a beer balanced precariously on his stomach and his sock feet up on the coffee table, watching with rapt attention a reality TV show about a bridal shop. A girl on the screen cried over her perfect dress, talking about her dream of walking down the aisle, and Sam would swear until his dying day that Dean had been a little teary-eyed - and so, so busted._

_When Cas had been awoken by his peals of laughter and come out to join the brothers in the living room, despite the fact that it was three in the morning at least, Sam had made a thoughtless comment about how he'd always wanted to have a wedding. It was an attempt at appeasing Dean, or teasing him further, perhaps. Cas had looked at him in that serious way of his and said simply: "Why can't we?"_

_Sam had bought the ring, online and overnight delivery, the very next day._

_THE END  
_


End file.
